


Little Hawke

by Penthesilea1623



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Anabel Hawke got her name.  And her nickname.  Takes place before the "All That Might Be" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Hawke

Malcolm and Leandra made a game of thinking of names for the baby. It had started when she first told him she was pregnant, panic stricken and afraid. Crying hysterically. He’d gathered her in his arms, taken her hand and placed it over her lower abdomen, his hand firmly over hers.  


“What shall we name it?” he’d asked.  


She’d looked at him as if he were mad.  


“A name. If it’s a boy…” He looked at her expectantly.  


“Umm...Garrett?” she said through her tears.  


He nodded. “Garrett. And for a girl?”  


She tried frantically to think of a girl’s name. “Marian?”, and laughed at the face he made. “You choose”.  


“Penelope?” She couldn’t hide her distaste.  


“Zenobia?” She suggested.  


“What? Is that even a name?”  


She gave him a playful shove. “I had an Aunt Zenobia who was just lovely.”  


“Why not just name her Brunhilda or Griselda and doom her to spinsterhood from the start?” he asked.  


Jane was too plain. Araminta not nearly plain enough.  


They went back and forth, each choice becoming more and more ridiculous, until as he had intended the tears were forgotten and she was laughing. He leaned over and kissed her firmly on the mouth. A baby. Maker help them. “I’d best go talk to Maurevar.”  


The game of a girl’s name continued as they fled Kirkwall, all through the winter, and Leandra’s increasingly difficult pregnancy. When Malcolm returned from the job with the Grey Wardens, looking more serious and somehow older, he clutched her as if he would never let her go, and informed her he was never leaving her again and she could name the baby whatever she wanted.  


“Anabel.” She said firmly. “An “a” name for Amell.” Her family might have disowned her, but she was still an Amell, and her children would be too.  


Malcolm groaned and rested his forehead against hers. “Anabel.” He agreed.

When she was born, she was a small, feminine version of her father, who laughed in delight as he took in her red curls, pale skin and large blue-green eyes. “I’m afraid this one will never be mistaken for an Amell, my love.” He said as he handed her to her mother. “You’ve given me a little Hawke.”


End file.
